


Pride and Affection

by insanitysartist



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, rating subject to change depending on where I take this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 15:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanitysartist/pseuds/insanitysartist
Summary: A re-imagining of P&P – a simple AU wherein Bingley does not leave for London after the Netherfield ball. Instead, his presence and his attention to Jane continue – as well as Mr. Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s meetings. How, then would the rest of the story been different if Jane and Bingley had never been separated, and their courtship never delayed?Set directly after the Netherfield ball.





	Pride and Affection

Elizabeth awoke early despite the late arrival home and the fretful sleep she had endured the night before. The sun was just beginning its descent and the gentle glow was warmly inviting in her present state of anxiety. She dressed and fixed her hair as quickly as it would allow without going through the bother of summoning their maid, which she was quite sure would mortify her mother later, though perhaps not as much as the walk itself. Mrs. Bennet never could approve of her second daughter’s love of walking and often scolded her for “traipsing about in the wilderness,” begging her to have compassion on her poor nerves – for what if some wild animal should get her while she was so determined to defy her mother!

        It was with much amusement at these thoughts that she quietly slipped out the house while the rest of her family still slept soundly. Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, caught sight of her from a window upstairs and allowed herself an exasperated smile for she, too, knew well what Mrs. Bennet was sure to say about this later.

        Nothing could dissuade Elizabeth when she was really determined, however, and she was quite at peace for the better part of an hour while she walked until she realized her direction. She had not paid much attention to it until she realized she was in a particular patch of woods very near Netherfield. She had not taken the road for her walk, preferring winding, nearly wild paths for her excursions, but her feet had, apparently, led her in that direction nonetheless. She wondered at her unconscious mind’s bitter determination to remind her of the mortifying night when the whole purpose of her current exercise was to achieve the opposite.

        With a sigh, she absentmindedly began walking again, though turning into a new direction so as to avoid the place that her family had so elegantly exposed themselves the night before. The sun was still not yet fully risen, but the heat it provided now only added to her frustration rather than soothed her. She supposed she should return home before the others were roused but there was such an uncharacteristic dispiritedness in her chest that she could not make herself do as much, though she knew decorum demanded otherwise.

        The events of the ball kept replaying in her mind in the most egregious fashion. Though the town itself may be used to her family’s displays, the whole society being rather prone to their own, and Elizabeth might have been able to forgive the breaches in conduct _there_ – that they should be so humiliated in their new company! And in such a way as being wholly ignorant to their own distinct lack of propriety! She felt, perhaps for the first time, some compassion for her mother’s poor nerves after all, and that thought served to lighten her mood, albeit minutely.

        She was glad for only one part of the night. Her elder sister had been far too preoccupied with her Mr. Bingley to take notice of those scenes which were presently burdening Elizabeth, or she would surely be in the same state of mortification. Even Jane, with her sweet and easy temper, would have felt the sting of their family’s behavior. She was glad, too, for Mr. Bingley’s preoccupation in Jane as well. Though she should think anyone who truly wanted to marry her sister should have the strength to bear the silliness of her relations, she was sure not even he could have entirely excused such missteps and neither would she blame him. As it was, both of them had been abundantly enamored with each other and apparently noticed nothing. She had, at least, that knowledge to take comfort in.

        At that, she forced her thoughts away from such unpleasantness and focused her attention on much more pleasing matters – such as the prettiness of the little brook she had suddenly come across. The sight and sounds were soothing and her mind at last obeyed her wishes, allowing itself to be lulled into quietness. She clamored over to an odd tree that was nearly on the edge of the shore. It was an old, leaning thing – almost pressing against the grass as if it wished to sprawl in it and laze the day away. Between the brook and the tree, there was still enough ground for her feet and situating herself against it to face the water, she soon found herself as relaxed as she was earlier in her outing.

        Her efforts, however, were in vain it seemed. No sooner had she regained her usual cheerfulness than a familiar figure came upon her as to make her uneasy again. It was, of course, Mr. Darcy, who had apparently shared the same thought as she and seemed to be idly following the brook. Upon becoming aware of another’s presence, their eyes met in no a small amount of alarm.

        Remembering himself, Mr. Darcy bowed and tipped his hat. “Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

        Elizabeth stood as well she could in her current position and curtsied politely. “Mr. Darcy.”

        The gentlemen then noticed the precarious edge on which the lady was standing – having at first been far too shocked at the sudden and rather pretty sight of her against the tree to have taken note. A single misstep and Miss Elizabeth Bennet would surely crash into the brook he had just moments before been following. Before his urge of caution could even form on his lips, however, the lady had preconceived his intention and said thus:

        “Do not look so panicked, sir. I am quite steady. You need not fear for a most improper fall on my part.” Only the sparkle of amusement in her eyes belied her somber tone.

                Mr. Darcy’s expression shifted from one of alarm to one of doubt. “I do not doubt your steadiness, my lady, but rather that of the ground. I fear it cannot be relied on.”

        Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “What misfortunes I have then! I have always thought of the ground to be a most reliable creation. It is a rather ill-timed moment for me to be found wrong.”

        For all his worry, Mr. Darcy was tempted to a smile at her antics even as he came nearer and implored her to allow his aid in helping her to more secure footing. In light of his insistence, Elizabeth felt it would no longer be prudent to tease him. She acquiesced, though not without a quip, and extended her hand to his. But before he could grasp it, the earth beneath Elizabeth’s feet answered his fears and gave way with a great heave.

        He lunged forward, grabbing her by her waist, and swung her to safety just as she began to fall with it. Elizabeth, quite by instinct, wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight as he pulled her away. They watched the ground crumble into the stream as they held onto each other – her trembling arms hugging him tight and his steady ones still securing her, chests heaving with heavy breaths. Perhaps due to the resulting shock, neither realized the intimacy of their position for a few moments still. The short time allowed for Elizabeth to be surprised by the pleasurable solidness of Mr. Darcy and for he to marvel at the softness of the lady. The instant these revelations became known to them respectively, the impropriety of their embrace likewise became evident. With equally reddening faces, they dropped their arms and stepped a pace away.

        Mr. Darcy coughed uncomfortably and could not quite look at Elizabeth as he began, “I beg your forgiveness. I did not mean –”

        But Elizabeth would not have it and cut him off. “No, please, do not apologize. I fear I must be the one to beg forgiveness and express my gratitude as well. Had I but listened to your warning, you would not have had to…” Abnormally flustered, she trailed off and cleared her throat, but found she could not continue.

        Mr. Darcy looked at her now, though he was careful to show no sign of the immense pleasure he felt at seeing her so out of sorts. The coloring was more than flattering to her face – especially so once a spark of merriment appeared in her otherwise disconcerted features.

        “I should perhaps thank you the most on behalf of my poor mother.” She met his gaze, her amusement mounting. “She is ever tormented by my wild ways. I do not think her nerves could handle my coming home in such a state. Hill would be fetching her smelling salts before I even managed to cross the doorway.”

        Mr. Darcy allowed himself a grin this time. “Perhaps, then, I should further impose her gratitude on myself and accompany you home. Certainly, she will think your walk less wild if you arrive home escorted.”

        Elizabeth arched her brow. “If you continue in this endeavor to indebt me towards you so, I will never be able to repay you. Nay, Mr. Darcy, I see your game and I shall deny you the satisfaction of such a deed.”

        The gentlemen adopted a look of severity and Elizabeth struggled to keep her mirth under control. “A genteel lady such as yourself intends to deny her rescuer his very reasonable request?”

        At this, she could not stop her laughter from bubbling to the surface. Arising from her fit, she conceded, “If you are so generous to think me genteel after the display of this morning, it would not do me credit to dissuade that opinion. Very well, sir, you may see me home.”

        They set off toward the road in a comfortable silence, each absorbed in their own contemplations. Elizabeth, now given time to process what had occurred in the past few minutes since her initial shock at Mr. Darcy coming upon her, felt somewhat thrown after seeing this new side him that was much unlike the man who she had been thus far determined to hate. He joked easily with her and his countenance, though it still beheld that characteristic reservation of his, had been friendlier and almost warm. It was so much in contrast with the high handed manner he had treated her remarks before! Their arguments previously, while mirthful on her side, seemed to be a matter of pride on his. Was this how he behaved with his intimate friends? Elizabeth could hardly claim to be one of them, which only served to puzzle her more. Could this be some sort of act on his part? But neither did his manners today seem forced or falsified. On the contrary, he had perhaps more of a genuine look about him than she had ever seen. He had warned her not to take a sketch of his character presently and perhaps, for once, she ought to have heeded. For no matter how she worked it over in her mind, she was forced to admit that there may be some merit to Jane’s optimism in the matters regarding Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. Though she did not think Mr. Wickham capable of fabricating such a tale, neither was she any longer fully sure she understood Mr. Darcy well enough to accuse him of such misdeeds with good conscience. These musings offered no answers, but instead intensified her curiosity of Mr. Darcy’s side of the story and she felt it a great strain on her self-discipline to refrain from asking.

        Unbeknownst to her, the gentleman’s thoughts were similarly engaged. He had begun the walk by chastising himself for the behavior that was so puzzling to Elizabeth now. His guard had been completely at ease and he had allowed the enjoyment of her their banter to override his usually carefully controlled conduct. It would not do for him to allow himself to be so comfortable in her presence. He had known since her stay at Netherfield the high danger Miss Elizabeth Bennet posed to him and now he felt it all the more keenly. He had resolved to be off to London by this time after their dance last night, but alas, Bingley had quite surprised him this morning and would not be removed from Hertfordshire despite all of Darcy’s persuasion. Now, as they neared the road, his mind had turned to the conversation during their dance last night and a trickle of worry had seeped its way into his chest. He began to wonder in what way Wickham had endeared himself to the lady at his side and, more gravely, his intentions.

        At the same moment, both parties chose to brave impropriety and broach the very thing which, though the subject was shared between them, neither had any business prying into.

        “Sir, our conversation last night –,” Elizabeth began as Mr. Darcy said, “Last night, you inquired –,” and then both stropped to allow the other the chance continue, during which only a pregnant pause could be heard.

        Elizabeth caught his eye and smiled. “It seems our minds as well as our feet have been taking the same turns, Mr. Darcy.”

        He inclined his head toward her. “Please, continue. As you say, we both desire the same subject.”

        She hesitated only for a moment, but she had found her resolve and did not intend to throw it away. “Last night, our conversation turned, for a moment, to a gentleman who has a most undesirous relationship with you. You know, of course, that I speak of Mr. Wickham.” She eyed him, trying to ascertain his reaction with the intention of dropping the subject should she anger him. But seeing only a blank intention to listen and nothing more, she continued, “You also said that you take great care in any resentment created, since such resentment is immovable. I must confess – and I beg your forgiveness for such an admission – that Mr. Wickham has told me some particulars of your quarrel – or rather, some particulars as he sees them.”

        At this, there was a noticeable tightness of his lips and Elizabeth stopped in her speech suddenly. She was moments away from apologizing and changing the subject, but he, most surprisingly, continued for her, “And you wish to know the particulars from my point of view?”

        Elizabeth affirmed his statement and then cast her eyes to the ground, profoundly aware of the indecency asking such a thing, especially from someone like herself, so completely unconnected to the Darcy family with no intimate relationships or familial bonds to claim reason for it. Even though she knew of the situation from Mr. Wickham himself, he was a decided enemy against the Darcy family and he having related the story to her gave her no leave to inquire any further, especially to Mr. Darcy himself.

        The gentlemen in question, though equally aware, was much less concerned with the impropriety of her request than he was with his own unexpected desire to recount the entire affair to her. He had begun to suspect, by Miss Bingley’s retelling of her own conversation with Miss Elizabeth last night, that her friendship with Wickham might be more than a simple acquaintance. Darcy, who knew well Wickham’s true intentions towards any woman of even mildly decent figure or fortune, found that the idea of him stooping to turn any such attentions onto _her_ filled him with an irrepressible, incomprehensible anger.

        Elizabeth took note of this change in his demeanor instantly, as she had carefully raised her eyes from the ground to study him during the long silence which had ensued as Darcy struggled within himself. Mistaking his anger to be toward herself, her shame intensified and at last she found her voice again, “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Darcy. Please, forget –”

        Mr. Darcy was momentarily taken aback at her voice, but recovering himself, he raised a hand to stop her. “Do not apologize. My anger was not directed towards you, but rather…” He trailed off and fixed his eyes on a bend in the road, but she could see that his true focus was elsewhere. Upon being assured it was not she that had angered him, Elizabeth’s curiosity, never completely cooled, was renewed with a voracious appetite. If it was not her, then… Mr. Wickham? What could he have done to have angered Mr. Darcy so? At last, he spoke again:

        “If I may, before I answer your query, I should like to pose one of my own.”

        Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. This whole morning was nothing close to what she was inclined to expect and eager to know what he could ask of her in relation this this matter, she replied, with her customary impishness, “Do you think me capable of so much incivility as to deny you any request when I have ventured to make such a daring one of my own? I ask you not tempt me to prove you right, sir.”

        He did not immediately reply and she initially thought she might have offended him, but she saw straightaway that she had not. Though he had long since regained the proud, distant expression she was accustomed to during their walk, she detected a quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth she might have otherwise missed. How many more confusing behaviors would she be witness to on the way to Longbourn! She began to doubt that she would ever be able to make out his character in full.

        Mr. Darcy was indeed not offended and was silent only because he had continued to wrestle with himself over whether he should continue the conversation or not. _Her_ request might have been a broach of decorum, but _his_ was all the more indecent. Satisfied, though, that her teasing was permission enough for him to continue, he finally made his question known as they reached the turn that led toward her home. He cleared his throat and at last addressed her, in his usual tone of conceit, “My quarrel with Mr. Wickham is more than he has told you, of that I can assure you. There are particulars which I am confident in asserting that he would hesitate to relate to anyone, particularly if that person to whom he was speaking was of _special_ interest to him. I, too, am quite hesitant to make the affair known to anyone outside of those who were chiefly involved, but I find that it might be prudent – for your sake. I must inquire, and you may very well choose not to answer, as to the nature of the relationship between you and Mr. Wickham.”

        Elizabeth could not have hidden her shock if she tried and though Darcy took note of it, he did not rescind his request, even for all the discomfort he felt. He satisfied himself that he had good reason to inquire and that the mounting aggravation toward the image of Wickham paying her any _special_ attention was not a deciding factor, no matter how it plagued him. He therefore decided to wait in silence until she replied and thought he could still glean the answer even if she did not give it directly.

        Elizabeth knew she should be angry at him prying so licentiously, but in the face of her own prying and her now further provoked interest, she could not summon any anger. What could have happened between them that such a question on his part would be necessary? Even if she now knew there were more layers to him than previously thought, she had little doubt that Mr. Darcy was still an officious man on which the strictures of propriety weighed heavily. Belatedly, she realized she must answer him, but found she was unsure how. That there was some particular regard for each other between them, she was quite certain. How much on his side and even how much on her own, she was less so. At length, she replied, “He is not courting me, if that is what you wish to know.”

        This was not a full answer and they both knew it. Determined, Darcy kept on, “Is it expected that he will ask permission?”

        Elizabeth colored. “I think,” she swallowed, “that even if he should desire it, prudency would demand otherwise. My circumstances would only burden him further.” Her chest tightened, but she knew it to be the truth.

        Darcy found little comfort in her admission. It was very clear to him now that his suspicious were correct on _her_ side at the very least. What Wickham felt, and what he intended, was another matter. That the man _could_ feel genuine affection was a possibility that he did not readily discount, but even that notion did naught to alleviate the swelling emotions within himself. He must tell her Wickham’s true character.

        But they were coming upon Longbourn now and this was not something he wanted to relay to her in hasty discussion. As they crossed into the estate, her agitation, likely equal to his own, was apparent. With the doorway growing ever closer, he gently laid a hand on her arm to bring her to a stop. His body both upbraided and applauded the physical contact, minute as it was. He schooled his features carefully as her curious eyes turned to his face.

        “We will continue our discussion another time.”

        His cold tone made Elizabeth react instinctively. “I should not like to be taught to doubt a gentlemen’s word, Mr. Darcy,” she warned, eye brows arched. She gave him no time to rebut as she walked ahead of him into the house.

        They were both taken to the day parlor, where her mother, Jane, Mary, Mr. Collins, and – most surprisingly – Mr. Bingley were seated in amiable conversation. Their appearance caused quite a disconcertment until Mr. Darcy, his supercilious air firmly intact, explained that he had come across Elizabeth in his own walk and thought it best to see her home. Mrs. Bennet was then forced to thank him with a genuine gratitude she otherwise could not have mustered. Elizabeth noted with both amusement and apprehension the distinctly displeased look she received afterward.

        “Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins cried suddenly. “What a valuable morning you have had! Escorted by the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself! Good sir, the condescension you exhibit is equal to that of the grand lady’s herself! How fortunate you are to know such a man, Cousin! I, too, must thank you, kind sir, for without your generous assistance, my dearest cousin might have been harmed…”

        And he continued in this way for the next five minutes. Elizabeth distracted herself by sitting where she could privately catch Jane’s eye. Her sister’s face was a mix of apprehension for her and carefully concealed elation presumably toward the man next to her. Elizabeth conveyed, as best she could with silence and discretion, that they would have much to talk of later.

        Mr. Darcy was much more negatively preoccupied. Throughout the odious man’s raptures and gratitudes, he detected a particular way he spoke of his “dearest cousin” that led him to believe that perhaps more than _one_ ill-deserving man had turned their eye to _her._ The lady in question did not seem to notice nor care, but that assuaged him little.

        Finally, Mr. Collins was interrupted by Mrs. Bennet, tired of their cousin domineering conversation better spent endearing Jane to Bingley. Being already very sure of Mr. Collin’s intentions towards her second daughter, she felt it imperative to shift the attention to securing the domestic bliss of her eldest while the subject of her endeavors sat in her parlor. She bade Mr. Darcy to sit and take tea with them as a thank you. His reluctance was as apparent as her own in inviting him, but he was too well bred to decline. He was then left to be seated next to the very man who was the current recipient of his ill will. Not for the first time that morning, he thought to himself that he should have gone ahead to Town after all.

        Mrs. Hill arrived with refreshments and they sat together for half an hour, most conversation steered by Mrs. Bennet toward Jane and Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy was required to say little, as the mistress of the house cared for no one to speak excepting for those two and herself, and occasionally Mr. Collins. Choosing to be observant rather than talkative, Elizabeth was soon intrigued by the interesting interaction between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.

        They scarcely looked at each other and in fact, seemed to be avidly avoiding the other’s gaze. When Mr. Darcy was brought into the conversation, his monosyllabic answers were directed toward Jane, her mother, and Mr. Collins only; Mr. Bingley likewise paid no heed to his friend’s comments. Mr. Darcy out walking on his own so early in the morning no longer seemed quite so strange. She wondered what could have possibly caused them to quarrel when the nature of their relationship would make it so uncharacteristic.

        Mrs. Bennet’s efforts were finally rewarded by a most shocking statement from Mr. Darcy when tea was finished, the dishes removed, and the two gentlemen stood to leave. He inclined his head toward Mr. Bingley and begged apology for his friend’s forgetfulness – though, he supposed, some distractions are more easily forgiven than others (Jane’s blush was rather becoming, Elizabeth thought, even if Mrs. Bennet’s grin was rather indecent) – but it had been Mr. Bingley’s intention this morning ask over the two elder Bennet girls for a “proper dinner” after their last visit was dampened by such unfortunate circumstances as Miss Bennet’s illness. Jane, the picturesque of propriety, softly pointed out that it would be very rude of them to accept an invitation not forwarded by the master of the house himself to which Mr. Bingley replied by heartily seconding the invitation. The plans were then made that the Netherfield carriage would be sent for the girls later in the day, as their cook was planning a particularly delicious meal that night, Mr. Darcy pointed out, and it would be a shame if they didn’t get to enjoy it.

        Mr. Bingley had brought his horse but as Mr. Darcy had walked, the former chose to lead his horse rather than ride. They walked in silence for the first mile until Bingley could no longer suppress the question:

        “What has become of you, Darcy? To what or to whom do I owe gratitude for this abrupt change in attitude?”

        “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Bingley,” Darcy drawled. “I am the same as I ever was.”

        Bingley scoffed. “Just this morning you were railing against me for my attachment to Miss Bennet – you suggested we head to London days early to get me away from her! And now you invite her – and Miss Elizabeth! – to Netherfield? You know I had no such plans.”

        Darcy grimaced and made no answer. He could not explain his actions to himself, much less Bingley. It was an impulsive decision. They had stood to leave and Mr. Collins had made a comment in his lengthy farewells thanking him once again for the safe return of “dearest cousin Elizabeth” and the words were out of his mouth before he could think. The idea that she would suffer his attentions the rest of the day angered him. So, he intentionally excluded Mr. Collins from the invitation, using a flimsy excuse so as to only invite the two ladies. Darcy knew that if Bingley had not been so elated by the prospect of dinner with Miss Bennet, he might be more suspicious. As it were, although Bingley _did_ have suspicions unbeknownst to Darcy, he was indeed satisfied enough to allow them to rest for the moment.

        At that moment, the two ladies who most preoccupied those gentlemen’s thoughts were likewise allowing their own thoughts to be occupied by _them._ They had slipped away to the garden for a private talk as soon as they were able. Jane immediately questioned Elizabeth about her arrival with Mr. Darcy and in as much detail as she could, she recounted the entire morning faithfully to her sister, apart from one detail.

        Jane was perturbed, but fascinated. “How very queer!” she cried. “Such a morning!”

        “Queer, indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. “I do not know what to make of it – any of it. Mr. Darcy was at once both so altered and so invariant to my previous judgments of him that I cannot be sure what I know of him at all.”

        “And to ask you something so grossly inappropriate! What can be his reason? For surely he must have one.”

        “Of course you say he must,” Elizabeth replied laughingly. “To say he did not would require us to think quite poorly of him and we both know you are incapable of being so distrustful.”

        “Lizzie! Be serious!” Jane implored, but her giggles could not be silenced either.

        “But I do agree with you,” Elizabeth said at last. “It seemed like he had more he wanted to say, but we were at our doorstep too quickly. Perhaps our questions will be answered tonight.”

        Her sister nodded her agreement and Elizabeth used the lull in the conversation to begin her own interview about Jane’s morning and the visit with Mr. Bingley and they were pleasantly occupied for some time on the subject.

        The only thing Elizabeth did not reveal, and no intentions to, was the length of the embrace after her rescue. While it had been improper to be sure, she knew she had not done anything truly wrong and although Jane would understand, she still could not bring herself to share it. There was a sense of privacy around the memory, brief as it was, that she didn’t want to disturb. It was her _own_ and, for whatever reason, she rather liked it that way.


End file.
